Page 113 of The Tryst

He gestures to the window and the street beyond. “I thought I saw him at the end of your street,” he says.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I stay quiet. He didn’t ask a question after all.

“When I turned onto your block a little while ago,” he adds.

“Probably because I gave him a ride,” I say evenly, and I should leave it at that. The more you say, the more obvious it is that you’re lying. But I don’t want David to figure out we’re a thing before Nick talks to him in an hour. So I have to say more to explain why Nick washere. “And he insisted on dropping me off and said he’d make his own way home.” I roll my eyes, likehow ridiculous is it that Nick brought me home rather than asked for a ride to his place.

“That sounds like him. He doesn’t like to impose,” he says with an apologetic smile, but it burns off quickly and he’s Detective David again. “I guess I didn’t realize you were friends.”

We’re not friends at all. We’re so much more. I just shrug. That way I don’t technically have to answer.

David rubs his palms along his jeans, something he does when he’s solving a problem. I remember it from when I tutored him. He’s adding up details. “But hey, it’s cool that you’re friends. I just…” He shakes his head like he’s shutting himself up.

My skin crawls. I want this conversation to end so much. “So tell me more about Cyn—”

“—I guess I didn’t realize you’d met him in Miami,” he says, his brow furrowed, both in confusion and clear frustration.

My heart explodes with fear. This is seriously bad if he knows about Miami. My own words from the night at the diner, when I bought the corset, when hesawthe satin fabric in my bag, blare in my head. I said I had a date the next night with a “sexy, powerful man I met a few months ago at a conference.”

David’s connecting the dots. At Mach speed, I cycle through what he might possibly know for certain. “Oh?” I ask, vague and nonchalant as I try to buy some time.

“Raven sent me a text this morning, thanking me for letting her be a part of the auction. She landed some business already from it and then she said…” David stops to grab his phone and read a text. “P.S. Your dad was awesome. I missed his speech in Miami but heard it on a podcast and loved it. I’m sure you heard how great it was from Layla.”

Forget bad. This is a disaster. He knowssomething.

I have no idea what he knows. No clue at all.

I think of my father. How he always told me to try to do my best.

Here goes, Dad.

This is my best.

“I did meet him in Miami. After his speech. It was great. And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, but I had no idea he was your father,” I say, taking a shaky breath. There. That’s all completely true. Then I jump over the romantic details. Those aren’t mine to tell. “And when we all met again at the diner, I should have told you I’d met him, but I was honestly surprised to see him and learn he was your dad.”

David seems to accept that answer, nodding a few times. Trouble is, he’s still rubbing his palms on his jeans. He’s still working out the puzzle, and I feel like a twisted terrible person.

“Got it,” he says. His tone is hollow.

My heart caves in. I’ve hurt my friend. I have to end this conversation before I hurt him more. “David. I have to go see Mia,” I say.

He pops up in a heartbeat. “Yeah. Sounds like you have a lot going on.”

In seconds, he’s at the door and we’re saying goodbye. It’s more uncomfortable than when I broke up with him. The second the door snicks shut, I lean against the wall, and try to breathe past my skyrocketing pulse.

But there’s no more time for self-care. I run to my phone and call Nick.

He doesn’t answer. I text him to call me.

I pace. No reply.

I try again and again, pacing back and forth.

Till my phone buzzes.

“Thank god,” I mutter, but it’s my mother.

Mom: My meetings in LA are going so well. I can’t wait till you’re part of this!

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